RESTAURANTS

RESTAURANTS; Tapas for Really Close Friends

By Marian Burros

Published: January 28, 2004

''IF they build it, you will come.'' That sums up Joe Bastianich and Mario Batali's partnership so far. In Casa Mono, a tapas bar-restaurant with a New York sensibility, they have another hit on their hands.

Since it opened in mid-December, Casa Mono has had the buzz, with its smoothly functioning dining room and a sommelier knowledgeable about the well-priced list of Spanish wines.

What it does not have is a good heating system. On really cold days, long winter underwear would not be out of place.

Mr. Bastianich, who is known to appear at each of his six restaurants every night, is spending a lot of time at Casa Mono: at the door, taking coats, serving wine, clearing plates, and in the open kitchen, keeping an eagle eye on the cooks.

Mr. Batali, the contributing chef and partner, is not just watching the cooks but also cooking with them.

In a space that came equipped with a fabulous Spanish mosaic tile floor, the owners did not have to do much to make the room attractive: they put up wood paneling and lined the walls with bottles of wine. Even so, the sommelier can be seen scurrying outside and around the corner in 10-degree weather to the wine room to fetch a bottle that did not make it to the shelves. Mr. Batali and Mr. Bastianich's Bar Jamón, the tiny tapas bar, whose food is cooked by the Casa Mono kitchen, is also around the corner.

At Casa Mono (is that monkey house or house of the monkey?), there is seating for 24 at tables and 14 at the bar, part of which is in front of the kitchen. The place is small, and there is already a serious crush.

It will certainly seem airier, if no quieter, when good weather permits sidewalk tables and the opening of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I have never been to the restaurant as a regular patron: I have known two of the owners professionally for years. But having been spotted at restaurants throughout my reviewing career, I have learned one thing: the owners cannot improve the food for the reviewer's sake. They can improve the service; they can make sure the food is hot. But if it does not taste good, they cannot make it better.

So, recognized or not, I found many more tasty little things to eat than those that still need work.

The cooks fry impeccably. The stars of the tapas menu are fried squid and the far more unusual fried pumpkin croquetas stuffed with goat cheese. Give these croquettes a chance to cool before jumping in. Then you can taste the contrasting creaminess and slight tartness of the cheese with the hint of sweetness in the pumpkin. The croquettes would be a fabulous addition to a Thanksgiving feast.

Even fried anchovies are well prepared, if you like fried anchovies. I am not a fan.

Pomegranate seeds are popular here. They have just the right touch of tart sweetness for quail, which is served with acorn squash and quince. Pomegranate seeds also appeared as a simple dessert, lounging in a bath of muscato, an irresistible sweet wine. One wit at our table said it was a dead ringer for a potpourri. On my last visit, the vivid red pomegranate seeds had been transformed, becoming part of a tangerine sorbet in muscato with slivers of tangerine in sherry gelatin, a sensational dessert for the calorie-conscious, better yet in May or June.

Mr. Batali and the restaurant's chef, Andy Nusser, also a partner, overhauled the dessert menu last week and came up with winners: a fudgy chocolate cake topped with milk chocolate ice cream and plump chocolate-covered almonds -- and I do not even like milk chocolate.

Ricotta cheesecake may be a throwback to Mr. Batali's roots, though Mr. Nusser, who used to be the chef at Babbo, said he found it in a Catalan cookbook. Whatever its origins, it was a creamy delight served with orange-date ice cream and a membrillo (quince paste), which was melted with orange juice.

But crema catalana (crème brûlée) does not quite work, and as for buñuelos of bay leaves -- bay leaves encased in sugary puffs of dough -- forget about it.

In many ways, Casa Mono is a work in progress. But the diner will have no trouble putting together enough little plates to make a very satisfying meal. Watch out, though: enough of these little plates and you have a considerable bill.

The seafood is cooked to a turn, whether it is chipirones (squid) with tiny white beans that look like pine nuts; scallops in the shell with garlic and a sprinkling of ground chorizo and cava, a sparkling wine; or a very simple dorada (sea bream or porgy) on a bed of sautéed salsify and dots of salsa verde.

But sunny-side-up duck egg with potatoes and thin slices of salted tuna loin is bland. Lamb chops, which I have had three times, are never cooked the same: sometimes overdone, sometimes medium rare. They are always oversalted, though. Duck and olives cannot hold a candle to the French version.

I will never know how cap i pota fria (the name is Catalan dialect for calves head and feet, or headcheese) tastes. Do you really want this on the menu in the age of mad cow?

And I am afraid you are on your own when it comes to cockscomb and tripe.